


Forgive me cause I love you

by liliaeth



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Crossover, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Hunters Vs. Pack, M/M, Past minor character death, Pre-Slash, minor Draeden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-06 17:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/pseuds/liliaeth
Summary: Stiles and Scott drifted apart, now they meet again as the FBI tries to use the young probationary agent's connections with Scott  as an in to get a grip on the gang war between Wolves and Hunters that has cost far too many lives already.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Escalus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/gifts).



> Thanks so much to Theostry and liveandletrain for help with betaing.

His feet stood frozen to the floor. Goosebumps forming on his neck as he fought the first panic attack he’d had in five years. Well, three and a half. But that last one didn’t really count. He didn’t know what he’d expected to happen for his first real assignment as a probationary agent. A lot of paper work, carrying coffee, drudge work. You know, the kind of things they always told you to expect when you’re new and pushed into an established unit. 

What he hadn’t expected was to enter the room and stare straight up at a crime board, filled to the brim with pictures and lines connecting each face to others. One half filled with the familiar faces of his pack – his friends, the people he’d grown up with, some he’d barely said hello to – while the other half was filled with mostly unknown faces, and some that he wished he’d never known. People who’d hunted his friends, who called innocents monsters and thought themselves the heroes in their own stories, even though they were the bad guys in everyone else’s.

He’d stood stunned, and for a moment he wondered if he was dreaming, if this was the nightmare he’d had since the war against Monroe first started. He checked; he only had five fingers.

His eyes immediately went to Scott’s picture on the board, somewhere below Chris, with a question mark next to it. Then he expanded his view and looked at the others. Chris on the top, Derek next to him, also with question marks; Liam and Theo somewhere on the left, Peter and Malia on the other side. And that was just the center of the board. Some of the faces were familiar from Facebook posts, but people he’d never even met in life, others…he probably knew by name but couldn’t put a face to. 

He turned back and headed straight for the bathroom. Wondering if they’d follow him, if his name was supposed to be somewhere on the board. He poured water on his face, trying to think, trying to catch his breath. 

He leant back, his head against the wall, and forced himself to take deep breaths. Tried to remember everything he’d ever been taught about how to manage this, this…moment.

When he finally did so, there was an older man standing next to him, waiting.

“Wh…what?”

“Are you alright, Stilinski?” Stiles couldn’t believe it. David Rossi, a veritable legend in the Bureau, one of the men who’d created the BAU. And he was talking to him. For a moment Stiles forgot what had led to his panic attack in the first place. It hit him again a second later.

“I just…” he tried to play it cool, but he knew how suspicious he’d be, if he’d seen anyone else act the way he’d just done. He stared at the mirror, almost kicking himself for how guilty he must have looked for someone like Rossi to have followed him.

“It’s Stiles.”

“What?”

“They call me Stiles.”

“Alright, Stiles. So what happened.” Rossi didn’t touch him. He seemed calm, waiting for an answer.

“The case, I…I guess I was a bit shocked.”

“Why?” Stiles looked at the man’s face, trying to read how much they knew, to figure out just how much shit he was in.

“Seeing my best friend’s face on the board.”

It was a last ditch save. He knew there was no way to cover up his behavior, and if he didn’t want them to instantly kick him off the team, he’d have to do something to explain it. It was desperate, but it had to work, because he needed to stay on this case. 

Scott would need him there.

“So you do know McCall.” Stiles stared back at Rossi. The man still seemed friendly, but there was a core of steel behind his eyes, something calculating, profiling his every answer.

Yep, definitely a trap.

“Imagine our surprise when during your background check, we noticed some of Argents’ main associates.”

“You mean, Scott and Malia.”

The man didn’t answer.

“Look, Malia and I used to date. Scott and I, we grew up together. Liam, Scott used to mentor him in high school. I know Scott, I don’t know what you’ve got on him, but I’m sure he hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just not…”

“And his connection to Argent.” 

“Chris is his stepfather.” Rossi nodded as if he already knew this. It was then that Stiles realized that this wasn’t just a trap; it had been a test, to see if he’d keep quiet or not. 

“So when was the last time you saw Scott?” Rossi seemed so relaxed, as if Stiles entire career and freedom weren’t on the line.

“Too long.” He whispered. About four years ago. “Different schools, different fields. We used to meet up occasionally, when we went home to Beacon Hills. But we had our own lives. Look, just tell me, what’s he supposed to have done?”

And Stiles let Rossi bring him back to the case room, where he was told the most amazing story, of two groups, one code named ‘the Hunters’, and the other ‘the Wolves’ or ‘the Werewolves’, who seemed to be involved in some kind of gang war that had already taken hundreds of lives.

Both were regarded as criminal organizations with branches ranging from the entire American continent to Europe, Asia, Africa and even Australia. Both had ties with organized crime. The Wolves’ ties with the Calavera cartel were suspicious, while the Hunters were linked with the Russian mob and certain factions of the mafia.

Stiles had to hold back hysterical laughter through half of it, and keep himself from correcting them the rest of the time. By the end he was luckily able to blame it all on shock. And then they gave him a phone, five people listening in on every word.

“Scott…we need to talk.”

 

********

 

The next few days were some of the hardest of Stiles’ entire life. Dealing with the senior agents as they picked his brain for any bit of knowledge he had on the Argents, Scott and any other wolf he was even halfway familiar with, was bad enough. But on top of that, a deeply insecure part of him kept worrying of what would happen if Scott didn’t want to talk to him anymore. 

It might be best for Scott, but for Stiles himself, he couldn’t help but hope that this would at least give him an excuse to see his best friend, to know that he was fine. To touch his friend, to feel him for real and see him as something other than a picture on Facebook, or a quick comment in response to one message or another.

Stiles was first to arrive at the arranged meeting place. He sank down on his chair and settled himself with a glass of soda, making sure that everyone was in place. He didn’t bother to tell their unit chief just how obvious the surveillance van was. If Prentiss didn’t know so already, then she probably didn’t deserve her job.

Scott sucked at subterfuge. Or at least he used to. Stiles tried to think of the last time he’d seen his best friend, his Alpha, that wasn’t over Skype. It wasn’t Scott’s fault. Or anyone’s fault. But they were both so damn busy. 

Stiles had school, field exams, first Berkeley then Quantico; Scott…he had road trips, online courses, night classes and anything to get some work in, in between endless fights for his life as the General in a war most of humanity didn’t know or care about.   
He hadn’t even thought about the meeting place when Scott picked it. A small café in Washington near Pennsylvania Avenue. Just a few sitting places outside, leaving him in clear view of the road. 

Scott was already half an hour late, so Stiles ordered a drink and waited. It made him worry that Scott wouldn’t come at all, or that he’d just send one of their friends. That one of them had heard the other heartbeats behind him and thought the worst of him. After all, they hadn’t talked in months, almost a year by now. 

He remembered how he used to fear that there’d come a day when he and Scott wouldn’t be best friends anymore. He hated to live in the reality of it.

Stiles didn’t even know how it had happened. How they’d gone from being nigh inseparable, and nightly phone calls to maybe a call once a week, then once a month, until eventually even that had petered out.

It had started with being too tired to call after a long day in class, or Scott not being able to call him back because he was undercover, or because he didn’t have any internet or phone access. But the longer it went on, the fewer specifics Scott would give him on the cases he was dealing with. And since all of Scott’s life was about the fight, that didn’t leave them much that they could talk about. The hardest part of it all wasn’t that they’d had an argument. If there had been one specific moment where he could say, ‘that’s when we stopped talking’, then they could have dealt with it. It’s that once you haven’t talked to a person for a month or two, you start thinking, “what if they don’t want to hear from me?” and “Why didn’t ‘they’ call ‘me’ sooner?” 

And once that kind of thinking started playing in your mind, it became harder and harder to pick up the phone and call.

He could feel the cold wire against his chest, and he hated how his first reason to go talk to Scott again came with pretense. Sure, the idea of playing double – no, triple – agent had seemed cool back at the FBI building. But it was starting to feel more and more ridiculous now. Especially now that he had to find a way to let Scott know that people were listening in on them.

He startled when he heard Scott’s arrival. A heavy motorcycle, Stiles didn’t know enough about them to recognize the make. Scott was wearing a leather coat, boots, worn jeans. His hair was longer now, back to being as floofy as it had been when they’d been younger. Were those beads? Stiles wasn’t even sure. And those tattoos. Stiles knew Scott had always wanted a tattoo, or two, or three. But he couldn’t help but notice the colors coming from under the shirt’s sleeve, as Scott held up the helmet under his arm. Scott’s smile seemed hesitant; did Stiles imagine seeing it brighten when Scott saw him, and then retreat a second later? Or was that wishful thinking? He wasn’t sure if he was projecting his own insecurity. 

Stiles wanted to say something smart, something meaningful, and yet all he could think of saying was, “So how much fire did that one take?” Scott stopped, and then he grinned as he rolled up his sleeve a bit. 

Stiles flinched in his place. Even now the idea of willingly enduring that much pain…Stiles would never get it.

“Remember what I told you about how I had to stay in New York a few years back? The Marston Pack? Derek knew a tattoo artist up in the Village. He also did the ones on my chest and legs.”

“Jesus, Scott.” And for a moment they were back to being in high school, Stiles almost expected Scott to pull him into a hug. It even looked like Scott wanted to. But he didn’t, they didn’t. And instead they just sat down, on opposite sides of the table. As if he was talking to a friendly stranger, rather than the closest thing he’d ever had to a brother.

Scott looked tired – he looked well physically, but there was something fragile in his eyes. If the reports Stiles had heard of that fight yesterday, that had left fifteen dead, were correct, then Stiles couldn’t blame him. But at least the feds didn’t know just how involved Scott was in things. He hoped. 

“So how’s things been?” The words sounded stupid, even to his own ears. “Heard anything from Matt lately?”

Scott looked at him for a moment, his eyes searching Stiles’. “Not since the station.”

“Yeah, that was a wild night. Remember the look on your mom's face when she figured out what we were up to?” 

Scott winced at that, and Stiles almost wanted to stab himself for bringing it up. But Scott needed to know that something was up, just so he wouldn’t say something that the feds could hold against him.

“So how’s Chris doing?” And please let Scott realize that Chris is the one they think they're after.

“Chris is…Chris. He’s been taking me along with him. I guess he hopes I’ll follow in his footsteps now, now that he no longer has Allison.”

In other words, Scott was hunting with Chris. Good. Stiles had been worried that Scott was out on his own. Scott never did well on his own. He was too much of a social creature, and not even just because he was a werewolf.

And now he was under investigation from the FBI. What would happen if they arrested him? How would someone as innocent and trusting as Scott survive in prison, on his own, without his pack to watch his back?   
 


	2. Chapter 2

Scott stared at the papers he’d just received. Names, pictures, and files on every single one of the men they’d faced last night. One of them was a young father; his wife was left behind with a two-year-old. A little girl who’d never see her daddy come home. Scott looked away from the picture of the happy family and forced the file back into the envelope.

Chris was talking on the phone with the Wright pack up in Alberta. After years of Chris being at his side, things had gotten better. The packs were finally starting to understand that the Argents and the Calaveras were their allies now. After all, both clans hated Monroe’s people even more than the wolves did. Though there were more than one Alpha that had wondered why Scott didn’t just bite the former hunter. Scott had tried to explain, but not all of them got it.

Derek was dismantling his new gun, cleaning every part, before putting it back together again. Braeden leaned over his back, her hand moving down her boyfriend’s neck to distract him as he worked. Derek was getting better at it, but was still far from perfect.  
When Scott had first heard Stiles’ voice on the line, he’d figured he had to be dreaming. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Then he’d sat up, worrying that something was wrong. Even more so when he’d heard the steady heartbeats of people surrounding Stiles. 

He practiced his hearing, listening to the surroundings almost as much as he listened to Stiles words, repeating the recorded message later on. Just the tones of Stiles’ voice made every cell of his body sing in response. He could barely stay in place after.

The others told him something might be wrong. That maybe hunters had Stiles, that they had to figure out what was going on, before Scott risked himself. But it was still Stiles, still the hole that he’d never been able to fill. 

Despite his concerns he welcomed the excuse to talk to the other man, hoping beyond hope that this was some sign that Stiles hadn’t forgotten him. That maybe their long silence hadn’t been intentional. There had been so many times in the past few years where he’d wanted to pick up the phone and call him. And then he reminded himself, Stiles was out, he was safe, and what right did Scott have to drag him back in?

The hard part of it all was that with everything that had happened, Scott needed Stiles more than ever. Stiles wasn’t the smartest member of the pack; both Mason and Lydia could beat anyone on that point. Stiles wasn’t the strongest, not even remotely. And there were plenty of others who were nicer or kinder, or more openly supportive. And yet, of all the people Scott had known in his life, there was no one he’d ever trust as much as Stiles. No one that he’d ever put before him, or that would ever matter as much to him. And no one he’d rather have watch his back.

Scott could still feel his skin tingle on his back where Derek had pulled out the bullets last night. It hadn’t been wolfsbane, but bullets hurt, no matter what they were filled with. He’d made sure they’d targeted him, instead of the kids they were trying to get out. The kids had been human, but they’d had a wolf for a father, so in the hunters’ eyes, that made them targets. 

He’d still been bleeding when he’d handed the boys over to their father, wishing he could have saved their mother as well. Fifteen people had died. Ten hunters, four wolves and a human woman who’d had the courage to date a werewolf and was seen as a traitor against her own kind for it. 

Scott had had to kill five of the hunters himself. Derek had taken out two, Chris a third, the pack had taken care of the other two. He’d tried to find another way, had tried to give the hunters a chance to surrender. But they were fanatically determined on finishing the mission, and then on taking him down, especially once they realized who he was. 

The hunters hadn’t even cared when their own started dying. Any sacrifice was worth it. Scott couldn’t understand it. It was one thing to risk your own life, but that of your friends, your allies, bystanders…

They wouldn’t talk, not to him, not to Chris, not to anyone. Not since Monroe had destroyed an entire cell of hunters for the grand crime of considering peace. 

To her, the very mention of a truce was a betrayal of everything she stood for. She was too far gone; settling for peace now would mean that none of her actions had mattered, that none of the lives she’d sacrificed had been worth it. And she couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

It led to the kind of question that Scott desperately needed Stiles for. Even just to listen to him ramble. Play devil’s advocate, figure out some other way. 

Because the longer this went on, the more Scott knew he had only one choice left, one option, and it was the one he hated more than anything. 

It was bad enough to have to get blood on his claws. Bad enough to know that any time he ordered his friends into battle, they might be forced to kill, and the blood they shed would be on his hands. 

But to actively order a woman’s death? Not just the possibility of it, but the certainty of it. It went against everything he believed in. It made him sick just thinking about it. And yet, it was the only choice he had left. 

He’d tried to get her arrested before; she’d grinned as her men on the inside opened the door wide and let her out with a fine. 

He couldn’t talk to her; she’d kill any messenger he sent. 

He couldn’t get her men to overthrow her; she was their hero. 

But if she died, she’d become a martyr, and he had no way of knowing for sure if that’d make her more or less dangerous than she was now.

 

*******

 

Stiles looked…good. Healthy. He’d filled out a bit, was growing a beard. He was probably doing so to try and look his age. Stiles had always had a bit of a baby face that was hard to get rid of. These days he was dressed in a suit, looking every bit the federal agent he was. It reminded Scott of his Dad; he had to fight of the urge to shift. 

Scott stopped for a moment as he pushed his helmet under his arm and headed towards the café. Ready for someone to start shooting. He listened in on the conversations surrounding him, noticed a small minivan to the side, ostensibly working for the telephone company. Scott could hear and feel the electronic interference from inside. 

He whispered at Derek to get ready, in case he had to grab Stiles and run. Derek mentioned the van and the hum of the surveillance equipment inside. FBI issue, so they were dealing with the feds instead of with hunters. It relaxed him somewhat.

Stiles was staring at him from his bright red chair, behind the bright red table. Scott couldn’t keep himself from smiling – and then he recognized the crackle of static coming from Stiles. He almost turned and ran.

Stiles' comment on his tattoos broke Scott out of his thoughts, he grinned as he rolled up his sleeve. 

Stiles mouth fell wide open. It was like they were back in elementary school, and Stiles was reacting to the scar on Scott’s knee where he’d hit his Mom’s glass table trying to skateboard indoors.

“Remember what I told you about how I had to stay in New York a few years back? The Marston Pack? Derek knew a tattoo artist up in the Village. He also did the ones on my chest and legs.” Hours upon hours of wolfsbane-laced ink, but oh so worth it.

“Jesus, Scott.” 

He looked so horrified that Scott wanted to pick him up and pull him in a hug; it was like they’d seen one another just yesterday and they could just continue on from where they’d left off. 

But then he heard that crackle again, that meant Stiles was wearing a wire, and the chasm between them felt larger than ever.

“So how’s things been?” How could he answer that one? He was alive, still. So were most of their friends. But he couldn’t say that, when he didn’t know who might be listening in on them. Was Stiles working against them? The very idea seemed inconceivable. Scott wasn’t sure what to do or say. Should he confront him about it?

“Heard anything from Matt lately?” Stiles’ words broke through the fog in his thoughts. Matt who? And then Scott got it, or he hoped he did. He tried to look in Stiles eyes, for some hint of what Stiles wanted him to do.

“Not since the station.” He answered carefully.

“Yeah, that was a wild night. Remember the look on your mom's face when she figured out what we were up to?” 

Scott winced just remembering. Even knowing that the truth had set them free – free to talk about things, for him to stop lying to her – her finding out, and the way she did, had hurt. Stiles knew that, and he wouldn’t be talking about it if he didn’t have to. If he didn’t want Scott to know that people were listening in.

“So how’s Chris doing?” For a moment Scott wondered what Chris had to do with anything, and then it was like a lightbulb went off in his head. Of course the feds were after Chris, and they thought using Stiles to get to him through Scott would provide them easy access. He just wasn’t sure how much they did know.

“Chris is…Chris.” He started rambling on, trying to sound innocent. Stiles didn’t seem to care, letting him go on. It was…nice.  
Being with Stiles, even just because the feds were trying to use him, it just felt right. Which only made it hurt more that they couldn’t really talk, not about things that actually mattered.

They chit-chatted, they wasted time, Scott said a lot of things, that later on, he’d probably barely remember. He talked about Malia going to France and running into Isaac, about Liam and Theo hooking up, something that made Stiles cringe at the very thought.  
Scott wanted to tell him it was alright, that Theo was truly one of theirs now. But how could he make Stiles believe that when he couldn’t talk about what Theo had done before. When so much of their past was too dangerous for the feds to know. 

“I’m with the BAU now.” Stiles said. Scott tried to remember what his father had once told him about the alphabet soup in government work. 

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit? How’d you get in there?”

“Well, I’m just a probie for now. But even just being around them is amazing. These people hunt real monsters, Scott. Not the horror movie kind, but the real ones. Like Kate or Jennifer.”

There was something underneath Stiles voice, as if Stiles was handing him an offer. What? That they could send the BAU after Monroe?

But how could they, how could they ever be sure that they could trust them? Outsiders. 

Did Stiles trust them? How could he, when at best he’d barely know them.

Is that what Stiles was telling him, as he talked about the people in the unit. About the serial killers, and mass murderers they brought in. It was more tempting than any offer Scott had heard in the past few years and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to fully trust it.

Stiles hero worshipped these people, and Scott had no idea how to react to that.

“They hunt monsters, Scott.” Stiles had said. 

But who the monsters were, depended on who you asked. And Scott had too much blood on his own hands to be considered an innocent any longer. He just had no way to tell Stiles that.


	3. Chapter 3

Emily had been nursing a headache ever since the Organized Crime unit had asked the BAU to assist on the Hunters vs Wolves case. At first she’d wondered why, since it had seemed pretty straightforward. Two rival criminal factions vying for territory.   
Yet the more she looked into the case, the more she realized that simply wasn’t the case. 

The Hunters seemed to act far more like a hate group than a criminal organization. Sure, they had criminal enterprises; they did business with arm traders, would sell drugs on the side and were involved with white collar fraud to fill up their bank accounts. 

But none of that seemed to be their primary purpose for being, more like a necessary evil to fund their real activities. It made them disturbingly similar to groups like the Ku Klux Clan, or neo-nazis.

The only problem was that they weren’t associated with any known hate group, and their ‘enemies’, the Wolves, hardly fit any specific kind of minority that was usually targeted by organizations like that. 

The Wolves were even less of an organization than the Hunters were. At first sight they were a series of loosely associated people. They were loners, families, cults, criminal groups, members of other unassociated criminal groups…most of them were seemingly law-abiding citizens, they even held cops, judges and legitimate businessmen among their number. Others were biker groups, some more legal than others. The only thing they seemed to have in common was the ferocity with which the hunters targeted them. 

Both seemed to be divided into separate cells, with a loosely tied leadership. And in both cases it was deeply unclear who was actually in charge. 

Tamora Monroe seemed to be high up in the Hunters. But so did others like Campbell over in Dublin, or Vasiliev in Chicago.

Either Chris Argent or Derek Hale was the leader of the Wolves, at least as far as they could make out from their travels. They were some of the only ones that could be connected with almost all the other ‘packs’. But even then Packs didn’t always seem to follow their instructions, and were as likely to distrust them as follow their orders.

And yet, despite all the focus the FBI had been spending on the conflict, it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that they had realized that a young man about to become a probationary member of the BAU had a long-standing association with both groups himself.   
Stilinski was…annoyingly unsuspicious. An eager student, with all the right paperwork. Hiding the fact that he was best friends with a young man who’d been part of both Argent and Hale’s circles since high school. And yet when confronted with it, he played the hoodwinked innocent.

They’d used two vans, one decoy to attract attention, to see what the Wolves would do when they spotted them (and God knew the wolves would always spot surveillance no matter how unobtrusive; the moment a van held any kind of surveillance equipment, any kind of tech, they seemed to be ready for it) and a second one, slightly better hidden in a company’s garage.

”He’s going off script.” Reid seemed to be ready to get out of his seat and do something. He’d been jumpy ever since his release from prison. She stared at the screen.

“I know.” Emily listened to the voices of their targets. Both of them were kids, really. Not even thirty yet. Younger even than Reid.

Stiles was all eager puppy. Listening to his childlike eagerness and admiration, she believed him when he talked about the BAU and how much being a part of it mattered to the younger agent, how much of his dreams had depended on being with them. And yet she realized that he was hiding a second message in every word he said to his companion. 

When Stiles told them about McCall, he’d mentioned Scott as a childhood friend. But as she saw them, she couldn’t help but see something more. The way the two men’s eyes lingered on one another. One all groomed and polished, the other with a hint of wildness, and something dangerous lurking underneath. As comfortable as Stilinski looked, McCall looked as if he was about ready for battle to start at any second. They seemed so incongruous, yet they fit like two halves of a whole.

“Let him.” Rossi said, looking up from the screen and the information they needed on a minute to minute basis, even as Garcia had hacked the cameras in the immediate area to see if she could find Argent, Hale or any of their associates in the area. Argent couldn’t be found, Hale was hiding out in a car in a nearby parkinglot

“But…” Reid was already analyzing every word that had been said, every datapoint they’d come across. She placed her hand on his shoulder, telling him to wait without even uttering the words.

“I think Stilinski is trying to talk him into coming in.” Rossi said. “Listen to what he’s saying. He’s trying to get McCall to trust us, to let us handle things.”

She took another look the scene. Once Rossi called it, she couldn’t help but agree.

“We did know that Stilinski knew more than he was saying.” Matt said.

They did at that. Stilinski’s juvenile record was a train wreck of such massive proportions that it made Emily wonder how the kid had ever even gotten into Quantico, let alone graduated from it. No matter what kind of connections he had. And yet despite that, no one had noticed him, no one seemed to have cared just how many murder scenes he’d been connected to, or that he came from Beacon Hills, the same town that Monroe, Argent and Hale had started out from.

And yet, she couldn’t help but think that if things had been different, Stilinski would have been an asset to any part of the bureau that could have gotten him. 

Instead here he was, talking to a member of a criminal organization, and his first priority was getting his old friend to safety. It was the kind of priority that Emily could appreciate, even as much as she regretted it for his sake. 

“They hunt monsters, Scott.”

Stilinski repeated the words, as he placed his hand on top of McCall’s.

“And you know she won’t stop if you don’t make her stop.”

‘She,’ as if Stiles expected McCall to know whom he was talking about. And somehow Emily couldn’t help but believe that he probably did. As if there was only one ‘she’ they could be talking about.  
She tried to see McCall as Stilinski did. As the kid Stilinski had known since kindergarten. 

“Her people kidnapped two kids last night.” McCall’s voice sounded soft, broken. So young, still. “They tried to use them as a trap for the kids’ pack.”  
“They didn’t…” Stilinski sounded horrified. She knew she felt the same fear. They hadn’t found any children’s bodies in the aftermath of the fight last night, but that didn’t mean anything. “Are they?”

The word ‘pack’ kept coming back where the Wolves were concerned. It seemed to be code for a small unit of them, some of these units could be as small as four people closely living together, or as large as a loosely associated group of up to forty people. Never much larger than that though.

“We managed to stop them. We relocated the pack.”

Stilinski calmed down, somewhat, but he was still agitated, his heartbeat still thumping wildly enough to be overheard on the wire. She couldn’t blame him.

“Where?” Stilinski asked, McCall didn’t answer.

“They made the kids watch, Stiles, they made them watch as they cut their mother’s throat in front of them. The youngest boy still hasn’t talked since. The woman wasn’t one of us, Stiles. She was an outsider. And they killed her, as they would have killed her children, because their father was a Wolf.” She expected McCall to get angry, he sounded sad instead. 

“Oh God, Scottie.”

“I tried to talk them down. Tried to make them see sense. But they wouldn’t listen. Even after everything, the pack would have accepted their surrender, I made sure of that. But they wouldn’t do it. Their mission, killing us, was all they could think about.”

“They died?” Ten of them, four of the others had worn the kind of tattoo that marked them as part of a ‘pack’.

“They weren’t the first.” McCall whispered the words, his tone heavy with shame.

Stilinski grabbed McCall’s hand, holding it as if he was holding all of him. McCall sank down into his touch and Stilinski leaned down over him, his other hand brushing through McCall’s hair. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Scott. It was self-defense. I know you, you were defending yourself, those kids, the pack. You wouldn’t have done it if there were any other option.”

“It doesn’t matter Stiles, their blood is still on my hands.”

“The BAU can help you. You know they can.”

“Hunters killed my Dad, Stiles.” Stilinski didn’t seem surprised. It went against his pretense that he hadn’t known what his friend had gotten involved with. “He tried to help us, and they waited for him, lured him into a trap with a false promise of information, and then they shot him in the back. He never even saw them coming. No way to prove who did it. But I know it was her.”

“I wouldn’t.” Stiles insisted. Wouldn’t what? McCall didn’t seem to have the same question, as if he could read Stilinski’s thoughts. Rossi seemed just as clueless.

“My father was an experienced FBI agent. He knew what he was doing, he had training, he knew how to handle dangerous situations. He was supposed to have back up. Dad’s backup never showed up. The guy pretended Dad never informed him where he was going. Made it look as if he’d made a mistake. As if Dad would have gotten that careless.”

Emily quickly opened McCall’s file, and the link in it to SA Rafael McCall. His death had never been solved. Was that how Argent had pulled the kid into his paramilitary organization? By promising answers about the death of Scott’s father? Or had McCall been involved on the fringes before? 

Gerard Argent had been active in that town for up to two years before his eventual death. He seemed to have recruited at the local high school that his granddaughter attended. The same school where Tamora Monroe had worked at as a guidance counsellor before she’d been radicalized. Why else would the CEO of a federally licensed arms dealership have suddenly used his influence to become a high school principal, when he’d never been interested in education at any time before that?

She could send in the cops now. McCall had all but confessed to murder, they had it on tape. Even if Stilinski had tried to guide him to saying it was self-defense. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? They weren’t here to take down one man. Emily was even inclined to believe the latter’s version of events. The Hunters tended to be the pro-active ones. 

The Wolves mostly responded to the Hunters’ violence, and when they did attack, they primarily seemed to target the Hunters military headquarters. The cases were Wolves went after Hunters’ personal lives seemed to get stopped by other Wolves instead. As if they were policing their own.

She wondered if she should just follow Stilinski’s lead. Make a deal with the Wolves’ leadership, use McCall as their in. Offer them reduced sentences for testifying against the hunters?

Find out what it was about the Wolves that made the Hunters so determined to exterminate them – and not just so she could finally make some sense out of all of it.   
 


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles could barely keep himself from shaking as Scott told him what he’d been up to the night before. Imagining himself in those kids’ place, seeing his own Mom die like that. So many innocent people had died in the past few years, and Stiles knew that Scott held himself responsible. He just wished he knew a way to tell his friend that it wasn’t his fault. 

But if there was one thing about Scott, it was that he’d always taken responsibility for more than he should. He’d always done so, ever since they were kids; becoming a werewolf, becoming an Alpha had only made it worse.  
Stiles couldn’t help but remember that one night, back at the Glen Capri, when Jennifer had tried to make all the wolves on the bus kill themselves. Sometimes he still heard Scott’s words: “I wish I could be no one again.”

“Oh God, Scottie.”

“I tried to talk them down. Tried to make them see sense. But they wouldn’t listen.” Stiles could hear that same pain now. That devastation that these people would die, and there was nothing Scott could do to stop blood from flowing. “Even after everything, the pack would have accepted their surrender, I made sure of that.” Of course he had, he was Scott McCall, the True Alpha. Scott tried to save everyone. “But they wouldn’t do it. Their mission, killing us, was all they could think about.”

Scott’s words, they seemed…oh God, no. He prayed to any God willing to listen that he was wrong.

“They died?” Please Scottie, tell me they didn’t make you do it, God please.

“They weren’t the first.” 

And the world ended. For a moment time froze, and it was as if nothing existed but him and Scott. And Scott…Scott was broken, in pain. Stiles grabbed for him, wanted to pull his best friend in a hug and never let go, protect him from the evil world that would make the most innocent and good person he’d ever known into a killer. Scott hesitated for a moment as Stiles held his hands, before he sank down, allowing himself to crumble. Stiles leaned over him, stroking the other man’s hair, feeling the soft strands under his fingertips. “I’m so sorry,” his touch said, though he never spoke the words. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Scott. It was self-defense.” Saying what Scott wouldn’t say, whether Stiles was wearing a wire or not. Hoping beyond hope that the agents on the other side would accept it too. “I know you.” Stiles knew Scott better than anyone. He’d lost faith in him once and it had been the worst mistake of his life, but this was Scott, and Scott was no killer. Peter hadn’t managed to make him a killer, Kate hadn’t managed it, Gerard hadn’t managed it, and there was no way that Stiles would allow Monroe to succeed where so many others had failed. “You were defending yourself, those kids, the pack. You wouldn’t have done it if there were any other option.”

“It doesn’t matter Stiles, their blood is still on my hands.”

“The BAU can help you. You know they can.” A plan built in his mind; it was half formed, he’d need Scott to come up with the rest of it. They always worked best together. But if they could get the BAU to focus on the hunters, if they could set the law on the hunters’ tracks…Scott had to understand that was possible, he just had to.

“Hunters killed my Dad, Stiles.” Stiles nodded. He’d assumed as much when he’d seen Rafael’s funeral mentioned. Stiles hadn’t been able to go, he hadn’t found out about it until after the man had been buried for a week. And Scott couldn’t be reached afterwards. “He tried to help us, and they waited for him, lured him into a trap with a false promise of information, and then they shot him in the back. He never even saw them coming. No way to prove who did it. But I know it was her.”

The way Scott kept looking at him, focusing on him, Stiles suddenly understood why Scott had practically admitted to murder earlier. Scott wasn’t stupid, he wouldn’t confess on tape when he knew someone was listening in, and yet he had done so today. And he’d done so for Stiles’ sake. If they thought Stiles was useful, could get him to talk, then they’d see Stiles as one of theirs, helpful rather than a potential threat. They’d think he was still on their side. Scott was protecting him, trying to keep him safe. Probably thinking that Stiles would do something stupid, get himself killed as well.

“I wouldn’t.” He’d learned to think before acting, mostly. Most of the time. Sometimes at least. 

But Scott didn’t believe him; his father had been experienced too, after all. Was that it? Was this the end of it? Was he supposed to just let Scott go, let him go on thinking that he had to keep Stiles safe, that the world was better with them on opposing sides?  
In his mind Stiles suddenly realized that if he did that, Scott would be lost. He might survive, but in the end, he wouldn’t be Scott anymore. 

He’d be talked into killing Monroe, going after her to end the war, and by trying to end it all, they’d lose everything. She’d succeed, once and for all. 

He wondered if she’d let Scott do it, if she understood what it would mean.

Thing is, he didn’t care. 

He wasn’t going to let her turn Scott into a killer so she’d be a martyr. He wasn’t going to let Scott destroy himself. Even if he had to ruin any chance at a career in the FBI to do it. 

Even if he had to make Scott and the pack hate him for the rest of his life.

He got out of his chair.

“Scott, I’m sorry.” Scott looked up at him, confused. “You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you.” He continued the rest of the words, waiting for Scott to put up a resistance. Was it shock, trust? Stiles had no idea. When his fellow agents appeared in sight, Stiles kept waiting for the betrayal in Scott’s eyes. 

It never came. Scott never broke the cuffs Stiles placed on his wrists, even though Stiles knew his friend was perfectly capable of doing so.

“Why?” Scott asked, turning back to him one last time, as Rossi and Reid grabbed his arms.

“I’m going to save you, Scott. I promise.”

The unit chief, SA Prentiss came up to him, and she didn’t seem happy. “Stilinski, this wasn’t the plan.”

“You wanted the head of the wolves, right?” She didn’t respond. Just looked at him, demanding an answer.

“This is Scott McCall, Alpha of the McCall Pack, and the worldwide leader of the werewolf resistance against hunters lead by Tamora Monroe”

Her mouth fell open in shock. She didn’t react to the ‘werewolves’ part. Probably assumed it was a code of some kind. Stiles did not understand how even after all the evidence of supernatural shenanigans in cases involving the wolves, the feds still hadn’t caught at least a glimpse of the truth.

“Chris Argent is high up, either him or Derek are probably around to serve as back up for Scott, but they’re not the ones in charge. Scott is.” He saw her look at Scott, who was still held in place, evaluating him.

“And you know this how? You have evidence of this?” She turned to him. 

He took a deep breath, trying to think of all the places he’d have to dig for evidence, all the holes he himself had covered up. If he couldn’t find the evidence himself, he could at least point them the right way. It was betrayal of his pack, his Alpha, on the worst scale. And it was all he could do to save Scott, no matter the cost.

“Why?” she asked, the same question Scott had asked before, so he answered it again, this time aimed at them both.

“The hunters are out for genocide. Scott and his people, they’re fighting for their survival. But they need help, Agent Prentiss. So what matters most to the FBI? Persecuting a bunch of people trying to defend themselves and their families? Or stopping a hate group out to massacre an entire minority just because they’re different?”

He could see her file the information, as if she was slotting it in to make sense of everything else she knew.

“Different how?”

Stiles hesitated, and then he took a penlight out of his pocket. “Hold him.” He said to the agents. He aimed it at Scott’s eyes – it was just getting dark enough for this to work. 

“Stiles, don’t.” Scott begged. Stiles didn’t listen.

The light reflected. Tapetum lucidum, an effect present in animals that had night vision. 

“The wolves, they’re not just ordinary people, Agent Prentiss, they’re…different. They’re lycans, werewolves, dealing with lycanthropy. To people like Monroe and her hunters, they’re monsters to be hunted.” He waited for her response, her disbelief, her horror.  
“They’re wrong. These are people, Agent Prentiss”, he repeated her name again. Praying she’d see just how important this was. “They may not be exactly what we traditionally think of as 'human', but they’re people like you and me. Some of them might be criminals, and some of them _are_ killers, but the grand majority of them are like Scott here, just people trying to live their lives. They don’t want to fight, they don’t want a war. The only reason people like Scott or Derek Hale or so many others in Scott’s pack are involved in this, is because they have no choice. Because they were forced to defend themselves, to protect those they loved.”

She saw the reflection of the light, but it wasn’t enough. She still wasn’t believing it, was still finding excuses to think it was just a story, that maybe he was delusional as well.

Prentiss was too stunned to stop him when he grabbed the steak knife from his plate and stabbed it through Scott’s hand. Scott cringed, he didn’t scream. He just pulled out the knife and dropped it before the feds made him drop it. “Stiles, stop.”, was all he said. Stiles didn’t.

He ignored the horrified reactions of the other agents and ploughed on. “If Scott testifies, you can bring down Monroe. But he’ll need some degree of immunity to do so.”  
Rossi was already grabbing something to stop the bleeding; the others were ready to aim their guns at Stiles, to stop him if he tried to do any more harm to their prisoner. He caught the moment they saw it, as Rossi grabbed Scott’s hand to check the severity of the injury. The wound was already gone. 

“What, how?”

Scott whispered something, too low for Stiles to hear. He didn’t look at Stiles. Prentiss and the others were staring at Scott now, as if he was some odd kind of specimen.

She might still send Scott to jail. But maybe they could limit his sentence, save him from the worst.

“The choice is yours, Agent. Does the law count for everyone, or not?”


	5. Epilogue

They’d brought him up from the city jail earlier. Things were quieter here than they’d been in his cellblock. His fellow inmates had soon learned not to mess with any wolves. He wondered if he’d have to teach the same kind of lessons once they were transferred to prison.

Scott stared at his hands, as he sat down on the wooden bench. The bars felt like they were closing in on him. Derek was sitting in a cell on the other side of the hall. Chris sat in another, near the doors.

Scott controlled his breathing as he shivered, trying to predict what was coming.

When Stiles first arrested him, he’d been too stunned to respond. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to fight back, not against Stiles. Even more so when he realized that Stiles wasn’t doing what he did for the feds’ sake.  
Derek had been the one screaming at Stiles when the feds forced him out of hiding, but one look from Scott had made the beta give in and go along with whatever Stiles’ plan was. Scott feared that Derek would never trust Stiles again – he didn’t do well with betrayal. 

The DA had soon come to them with a deal, based on the FBI’s advice. Accept a three-year sentence, plead guilty to first degree burglary and vigilantism in exchange for testifying against Monroe. Especially once he convinced others to testify as well.   
It was the best deal anyone could have hoped for. If they’d really gone in on him with the gang activity and started connecting him to any of the deaths caused in the war, it could have been much, much worse. 

And yet.

He could hear the sound of footsteps approaching from down the hall, a door opened as the guards led her down the hall, up toward the court room. 

Monroe glared at him as she passed his cell. “So you got what you wanted, Scott.” She said quietly, so only he and Derek could hear her. “This won’t end it, you know that right?” The guard didn’t let her stop. Scott shivered at the hate in her voice.   
Most of the heads of her organization had been arrested, but Scott’s lawyers had made sure Scott and his people wouldn’t be doing their sentences anywhere near Monroe’s people.

Derek would serve half a year; he’d take care of the pack until Scott was out. Chris…Chris hadn’t gotten out if it as easy. He’d been a hunter before he switched sides, after all. But most of the pack got off relatively clear. Liam got full immunity, as did most of the younger pack members, and they still didn’t know about Lydia’s involvement. 

Stiles even got to keep his job. Sort of. Stiles had told him he’d been transferred to a cyber-crimes unit. 

Scott wanted to be angry with him. Wanted to be pissed at Stiles for doing this to him, to all of them. Acting without thinking things through, without at least consulting him first. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel it. 

Stiles had promised to visit. 

Scott stood up as the guards came for him, straightened out his suit and let them bring him to the court room, where he took his place in the stand.

Stiles sat in the audience, giving him a thumbs-up as Scott responded to the DA’s questions. 

He prayed this would work. That this wouldn’t come back to bite them even more.

But he had to put his faith in Stiles. After all, that’s what he’d always done.

Who could he trust, if not Stiles?

The end


End file.
